Never in his life had Denzil Vanston made up his mind so quickly. Never perhaps had he been called upon to decide so important a matter. He saw the whole thing with a clearness born of his own vital interest in the case. His going out would obviate the necessity for Felix to come home at all. And it was obviously far better that Felix and Rona should not meet. Short as was his musing, it was too long for Rona's impatience. "You must go, you must go," she reiterated, "or we shall have it on our consciences till we die! You must send cables to the Russian police, you must let them see that he has powerful friends, that he cannot be spirited away with impunity! Oh," she burst out, in anguish, "never in all his life has anybody helped him! And now I, the one creature that he thought was his own, the one object for which he lived--I have failed him! But if you will go, Mr. Vanston, you may be in time! By God's help you may not be too late to let him know that he is not all alone in the world." Her lover raised his eyes and looked firmly upon her. He also folded his arms. "Rona," he said solemnly, "I have made up my mind. To go is my duty; and it shall be at once." She gave a gasp of relief. "Do not try to hinder me," continued Denzil, with unnecessary heroism. "To hinder you? I should think not," cried Rona. "As you say, to go is your duty, and at once. I will not try to prevent you. Every minute is precious." She moved, as if to leave the spot. Denzil gazed at her with wistful reproach. "You agree--you think," he faltered, "that I should set out literally at once?" "Of course I do! There can be no doubt! Come, let us go to the house and tell Aunt Bee, and arrange about the guests and so on. Each moment that we stand talking here may increase your difficulties when you get out there." He tried once more. "Rona! Will you really send me away like this?" She stopped short, looking blank. "I thought you had decided that it is your duty." His voice was broken by emotion. "But I thought--I thought--that you would have been sorry to let me go." "Forgive me," said Rona, "but I don't seem able to think about that. I feel so guilty, my own heart has been such a traitor, I can't bear to think of him out there, alone, unwanted ... when I think that I have wished so earnestly to be free from him I could--Oh, I tell you I could kill myself!" She turned away, hiding her face in her hands. And Denzil, after a moment's hesitation, chose the wiser part, and turning, went away and left her to wrestle with her remorse. CHAPTER XXII FOREBODINGS She was 'ware of a shadow that crossed where she lay, She was 'ware of a presence that withered the day. _The Lay of the Brown Rosary._